


Prove Your Body Wrong

by BrighteyedJill



Series: You'll Crash Standing [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Claiming, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Rape Recovery, Shame
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-19
Updated: 2013-12-19
Packaged: 2018-01-05 05:03:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1089924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrighteyedJill/pseuds/BrighteyedJill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Isaac can’t hide forever, especially once the twins’ actions begin to have consequences he didn’t foresee.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prove Your Body Wrong

**Author's Note:**

> **Important content advisory:** Memories of non-con, mentions of past abuse, internalized victim blaming, self-loathing, and generally unhealthy attitudes. But also comfort, I swear! 
> 
> Also, note: I recognize that the [magical healing cock](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Magical_Healing_Cock) trope is generally a problematic thing, but it’s kind of appropriate for werewolf lore, so I made an exception. 
> 
> Title from Dessa’s [The Crow](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SmeF4K-MelU)

For the second morning in a row, Isaac slinks towards the showers, trying to avoid any teammates who might have arrived early for practice. The twins’ scent clings to his skin, and he can still feel the hot presence of their touch on him like a brand. The sooner he can shower, the better chance he has of keeping his secret.

When he eases open the door to the locker room and sees no one, he thinks he’s home free. Then Stiles pops out from behind a bank of lockers. 

“Isaac! Good, you’re already here.”

“I’m hitting the showers. Can it wait?” Isaac brushes past him, but Stiles falls into step beside him. 

“Showering before practice. Unorthodox, but whatever. Listen, I’ve been working on this theory, this human sacrifice thing, okay, and—what is with your hair? Is that sex hair?”

Isaac stops and glares at Stiles. “What?”

“Sex hair. You get all sweaty and damp, then with the lying down and the grabbing, and it dries funny. Or so I hear. Why do you have—oh god.” Stiles grabs Isaac by the arm and hauls him around the corner, out of view of the door. “Did something happen with Allison? Because I know Scott is playing this break-up thing very cool, but she’s still—and aren’t you, like, his friend? He absolutely cannot find out from anyone else. If you really care at all about Scott, you’ve gotta come clean. You don’t want to see his betrayed eyes, I promise you. And anyway, seriously, Scott doesn’t deserve this. He’s a good guy, the best, and if you hurt him, I will—okay, I won’t break your kneecaps, because that would probably not be that big of a deal to you, but I would figure out something. Mountain ash. Mistletoe. Something. So just—“

“Guys? There you are.” Scott appears around the corner of the locker bank, looks at Stiles’ grip on Isaac’s arm, and shakes his head. “Are you threatening people again, Stiles? After last time, I thought we agreed that you should stick to—Wow, man.” He turns to Isaac. “You smell like… I mean, no offence, but after last night, I figured… Wait… What is--?”

“Oh, shit,” Stiles whispers.

“What is that?” Scott steps into Isaac’s personal space and breathes in. 

Isaac stumbles backwards against the lockers, panic making him clumsy. “I have to go.” He dodges Scott’s hand and hurries towards the showers.

“Isaac, wait.” Scott’s voice sharpens into a growl. “Isaac!”

Isaac freezes. He doesn’t mean to stop walking, but something in him can’t ignore Scott’s command. 

Scott steps over to put a hand on Isaac’s shoulder. “What is going on? Tell me.”

“I’m sorry.” Isaac can barely breathe, his chest is so tight. He doesn’t want to tell Scott this, but Stiles is right about the result even if he was wrong about the reason; Scott can’t hear about this from anyone else. “I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

“It’s not like you didn’t know better, dude,” Stiles mutters.

“Stiles, shut up,” Scott snaps. “Isaac, tell me.”

Isaac turns around to face Scott, though he can’t manage to look him in the eye. “I’m so sorry. I tried not to.”

“Accidental?” Stiles snorts. “You’re going with the accidental defense? You’d be better off blaming Twinkies.”

“Seriously, Stiles, shut up. Isaac, say something. What happened?”

“You already know.” Isaac wraps his arms around his body. “You can smell it on me.”

“Yeah, but… Why?” Scott’s face scrunches into a confused frown. “You hate the twins.”

Stiles hurries up to stand beside Scott. “What do the twins have to do with--?”

Scott smacks Stiles’ shoulder to shut him up, then returns his attention to Isaac. “Tell me.”

Isaac shrugs. “What do you want me to say?”

“Tell me what happened.”

“You’re gonna find out anyway.” Isaac takes a deep, shuddery breath. “There’s a… Aiden took a video.”

“A video of what?” Stiles asks. 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to get caught. You’ve got to believe me.” Isaac starts to reach for Scott before deciding he shouldn’t touch him. “They promised they wouldn’t tell you if I… I’m so sorry.”

“You’re… What…” Scott’s mouth opens and closes several times as he seems to process what Isaac has done. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Isaac looks down. “They said—“

“There is no way I would trust the word of those psychopaths over yours on anything, much less something like this.”

“Are you hurt?” Stiles asks. He’s very pale, but he’s looking at Isaac steadily, as if he hasn’t just confessed something unforgiveable. 

Isaac shakes his head. “No. They didn’t even have to hurt me to get me to…”

Scott’s hand comes down on Isaac’s shoulder and squeezes. “Okay. You’re not saying here, not with Ethan wandering around. Stiles, call Derek. Have him—“

“No!” Isaac shouts, then remembers to keep his voice down. “Don’t call Derek.”

Scott frowns. “Look, I know he’s being an asshole right now, but—“

“He knows.” Isaac swallows hard. Cora had said as much. He’d shown weakness to their enemy, and he hadn’t put up enough of a fight. He didn’t deserve the privilege of being part of the pack. “That’s why he kicked me out. He knows.”

“No way. Derek wouldn’t have…” Stiles trails off and lowers his phone. “Would he do something like that?”

“Can you blame him?” Isaac mutters. 

“Yes, I can,” Scott says simply. “Stiles, call my mom. Just tell her the alphas who hurt Isaac before came back.” He turns back to Isaac. “She’ll pick you up.”

“What are you gonna do?” Stiles asks. 

“I’m gonna take care of the twins.”

“No. Don’t.” Isaac dares to grab Scott’s arm to stop him walking away. “You can’t-- They’ll tell you.” He squeezes his eyes closed and sees the video: him naked and shameless, moaning mindlessly as Ethan fucks him. When he opens his eyes, Scott is watching him, wide-eyed. “You just can’t.”

“Not to mention terrible, terrible plan, Scott,” Stiles chimes in. “You’re not taking on the twins by yourself.”

“You have a better plan?”

“Of course.” Stiles shoves his phone in his pocket. “You take Isaac back to your place. I cover for you here and keep an eye on Ethan. I mean, Isaac, that’s if you’re okay to go with Scott?”

Isaac nods slowly, though he’s not sure he understands what’s happening. “Why--?” he begins, then shakes his head. “You don’t have to help.”

Stiles looks at him like he’s an idiot. “You’re pack,” Scott says. “We’ll find some way to deal with the twins. They’re not gonna hurt you again. Not ever. Come on.”

“Take the Jeep,” Stiles says.

“Seriously?”

“Yeah.” Stiles fishes his keys out of his pocket and presses them into Scott’s hand. “Be careful. Both of you.”  
\--

 

A reflexive terror flashes through Isaac as Scott pulls the Jeep out of the BHS parking lot. He’s _skipping school_ , which, even if it doesn’t result in any disciplinary action, will certainly have an effect on his already dismal grades. But then he remembers his dad won’t be asking him about his grades anymore, because his dad is dead. He has no family. His alpha kicked him out. He’s all alone. No one will care what happens to him.

Except, for some reason, Scott, who’s clumsily shifting the Jeep into second. “Hey, can you text Stiles and ask him to pick up our homework? He can usually come up with a convincing excuse.”

“Usually?”

“I guess it’s become kind of routine, lately, him covering for us at school. Since I got bitten, I mean. I’d be failing everything, otherwise. ”

“Yeah.” Isaac hadn’t had anyone to ask about homework when an “accident” with his dad took him out of school, or during those weeks when following Derek around seemed much more important than algebra. “I’ll tell him.” Isaac pulls out his phone to send the text, and finds three new messages from the same number as last night. Each one is a photo: him with his mouth stretched around a thick cock; him on his back, legs spread wide and erection obvious as he arches up into a thrust; him licking thick white semen off his fingers. The last has a message, too: _Beacon Hills Cemetery, 10pm, don’t be late_. 

He presses delete until the photos go away, then opens a new text and sends Scott’s message to Stiles.

Scott looks at him out of the corner of his eye as they pull out onto the street. “Everything okay?”

“Yes.” Isaac wills his heart to stop racing. He turns off his phone, as if ignoring the problem could save him. Scott throws him a tentative smile, and Isaac feels his breathing even out. Nothing’s going to happen as long as he’s with Scott.

Isaac slumps in his seat and watches the bleak landscape race by. He smells like sex, filthy sex. He can still feel the sticky residue on his hands, feel the wet, aching mess they made of his body. Scott must notice. Every moment he spends in this cramped space is another reminder to Scott of what Isaac has done. 

The smell is probably seeping into the upholstery, too. God knows these seats have seen their share of mud and blood, but Isaac’s contamination won’t wash out so easily. He wonders if he’ll ever be able to ride in the Jeep again without catching the scent of come and betrayal. If Stiles even lets him ride in the Jeep. They feel obligated to help Isaac now, because what he’s done has worsened the threat to the pack, but after this, they won’t want him around. They’ll leave, just like everyone he’s ever known. Like Cam. Like Derek. Isaac will be alone again. His breath is getting shallow, and he feels his stomach start to churn.

“Can you pull over?” Isaac asks.

“Why?”

“I don’t feel good. Please.”

Scott steers the Jeep onto the narrow shoulder; they’re at the edge of the preserve, so when Isaac hauls himself out the door, he lands in a pile of leaves.

Scott throws off his seatbelt and jumps out of the Jeep. “What’s wrong?”

Isaac can’t breathe. He digs his hands into the dead leaves and gags. What comes up is thick, black bile, hot as tar. It stains the ground, soaking in like blood. That’s not normal; he hasn’t eaten in two days, and anyway that black filth only makes an appearance when something’s gone horribly wrong. Like this contamination Isaac has created has grown too strong to hide. 

“Whoa, Isaac, hey.” Scott drops to one knee next to Isaac, hands hovering above his back like he dare not touch. Which makes sense: Isaac doesn’t want this stain anywhere near Scott. “Does it hurt? What do you want me to do?”

“Just get away.” Isaac lurches to his feet and claws his way up the small rise to the tree line. His hands and feet hit the ground running, and he’s gone a hundred yards or more before he realizes he’s shifted. He shouldn’t be doing this, not in broad daylight, but he can’t stop. 

Isaac can hear something crashing through the woods behind him, chasing him. He can’t get caught again. Fear gives him speed. His heart thumps rabbit-fast in his chest as he pushes himself to the edge of his endurance. His pursuer—pursuers?—seems to be gaining on him; he can feel the vibrations through the earth every time his claws dig into the loam.

Ahead, there’s a break in the trees. Isaac sprints towards it, and the promise of open ground away from the prison of trees. Too late, he sees the looming water; the edge of the bluff appears too quickly for him to dig his claws in and stop his forward plunge.

The shock of hitting the lake’s surface spurs a different kind of panic. The water closes over Isaac’s head, blurring the morning light. His lungs, already overtaxed, scream for air. He kicks, but his shoes are lead weights pulling him down. The cold water burns against his fevered skin. 

A sudden impact breaks the surface overhead. They’ve chased him here, and they’re going to catch him. When Isaac opens his mouth to scream, water pours in to choke him.

A hand catches the back of Isaac’s shirt and pulls, but he can’t coordinate his limbs enough to fight. He’s pulled back and up. For several seconds after his head breaks the surface, all he can do is choke and sputter. At last, he manages one shallow breath, then another. An arm across his chest is holding him up against the solid form of his pursuer. 

“Hang on,” Scott says. “I’ll get us back on land.”

Isaac gulps in a ragged breath, and stops fighting. Scott came after him. He’s not alone, and he doesn’t have to be afraid.

Without relaxing his grip on Isaac, Scott starts to kick and paddle, splashing brackish lake water in all directions as he hauls them to the reedy shallows. 

The cold air settles around Isaac like a vice when Scott pulls him onto solid ground. “Okay, you’re okay,” Scott keeps repeating. “I’m here, I’m with you. I’m not going anywhere. You’re going to be okay.”  
\--

Scott drags a musty wool blanket out of the back and wraps it around Isaac before manhandling him back into the Jeep. Scott slumps in the drivers’ seat, dripping all over everything. 

“Sorry,” Isaac chatters. “I didn’t mean to fall into the lake.”

“You can’t swim?” Scott asks. 

“Never learned.” 

“I’ll teach you sometime. When it’s warm, I mean. This summer. If I can teach Stiles, I can teach anyone.”

Isaac clenches his jaw, biting back a protest at Scott’s irrepressible kindness. He may think they’ll still be friends when summer rolls around, but that will change when he knows the extent of Isaac’s shame. “Look, I’m sorry. You didn’t have to come after me. I didn’t mean to put you in danger.”

Scott turns in his seat and frowns at him. “Isaac, I’d run after you whether you were going into a burning building or a nest of angry alphas. A cold lake is nothing.”

Isaac doesn’t know what to say to that.

Scott slides the keys into the ignition, but doesn’t start the Jeep. “What happened back there?”

“I panicked. I kind of forgot where I was.” Isaac frowns down at his hands. It’s been happening too often, recently: his fear putting his friends in danger. “I’m sorry.”

“That black stuff… It’s usually a sign of something werewolfy going wrong. Like wolfsbane poisoning or something.”

“I wasn’t poisoned.” Isaac’s pretty sure he would have remembered that. 

“Look, I want to take you to Deaton. Is that okay?”

“I’m fine. I’ll be fine.”

“Uh.” Scott touches his face just above his mouth, then nods towards Isaac.

When Isaac brings his hand up, he finds black fluid seeping from his nose. He stares at the dark stain of it on his fingers, and hears Aiden’s words in his head, _”Lick it clean.”_ He wipes it off on his wet jeans.

Scott is looking at him and dripping. “Isaac, I want to help.”

“Okay.” Isaac pulls the blanket tight around his shoulders. “I trust you.”  
\--

Deaton doesn’t ask too many questions. It’s one of Isaac’s favorite things about him, actually. After hearing about vomiting black goo, Deaton checks Isaac out: takes his temperature, listens to his breathing. Scott hovers at Isaac’s side the whole time, which should be annoying, but Isaac can’t bear to imagine him sitting all the way in the corner chair, too far to reach out to if Isaac needs him, so he says nothing.

Finally, Deaton leans against the counter and purses his lips. “This might sound strange, but did anything happen with Derek?”

“He kicked me out,” Isaac says.

“Ah.” Deaton nods sagely, like he’s putting the pieces together in some way he probably won’t tell any of them about. “Scott, I’d like to talk to Isaac alone for a minute.”

Scott looks to Isaac for confirmation. Isaac takes two deep breaths in quick succession, drinking in the scent of Scott’s solid strength, then nods.

“I’ll be just outside if you need me,” Scott says, and closes the door behind him.

Deaton folds his arms across his chest and measures Isaac with a look. “I know there are aspects of lycanthropy that can be confusing. I don’t have all the answers, but believe me when I say I just want to help.” He waits for Isaac’s nod, before continuing. “Isaac, did Scott hurt you?”

“Scott? No. No, he wouldn’t.”

“He didn’t do anything you objected to?”

“No,” Isaac says, though it comes out as a growl.

“All right.” Deaton holds up his hands. “Relax, please. I’m asking because I’m concerned about your health. Your body seems to be resisting a change of alphas. It’s similar to the way a body can reject a donated organ, or how some humans resist the bite.”

“A change of alphas.”

“If Derek’s relinquished his authority, and another alpha has staked a claim—“

“Oh.” Isaac closes his eyes and feels the twins holding him down, biting him, invading him. Even though his body had betrayed him then, it’s apparently making up for Isaac’s earlier failure by protesting now. “My body’s rejecting it?”

“Your symptoms suggest that there’s something fundamentally incompatible between you and this new allegiance you’ve formed.”

Isaac rubs his hand across his nose and stares at the black fluid still oozing out of him. That means he doesn’t want this. He’s not theirs, like they keep saying. He has a choice about where he belongs. “That’s… great.”

Deaton raises an eyebrow.

“I mean, I thought that-- It doesn’t matter.” Isaac takes a deep breath. “What do I have to do to fix it?”

“I’m not sure. Changes like this—related to pack loyalty, I mean—don’t often go smoothly. It may take a reassertion of dominance by your chosen alpha to get things back on track.” Deaton watches his reaction to this pronouncement carefully, and frowns at whatever he sees. “Isaac, you should think carefully about—“

“I know.” Isaac does know. He has a chance to make things right; he’s not about to screw it up. But he’s not sure how to explain the details to Deaton. He settles for saying, “It’s not what you think.”

“No?” Deaton does not look happy.

“Thank you.” Isaac grabs his discarded blanket and heads to the door, forestalling any more conversation. “This means a lot.”  
\--

Isaac spends the drive to the McCall house stealing glances at Scott and thinking about what Deaton had said. Even the persistent nausea that keeps trying to claw its way out of him doesn’t seem so bad anymore, now that he knows it’s his body’s way of fighting back. 

“Hey,” Scott says when they’re stopped at a red light and he can actually look at Isaac. “Did he say anything helpful? I mean, I know he likes to talk in riddles sometimes, but—“

“No, he helped. I just have to figure out some stuff.”

“If there’s anything I can do…” Scott trails off when he has to shift gears, though every time Isaac looks over at him, Scott quickly looks away, like he doesn’t want to be caught watching.

Scott is pulling the Jeep into the driveway when his phone chimes. Isaac freezes in the act of reaching for the door handle. All his senses zero in on Scott as he pulls his phone out of his jacket and reads. Surely the twins wouldn’t have sent something to Scott. Not yet. They can’t know Isaac broke his silence. They wouldn’t have told him to show up tonight if they’d found out he told someone what happened. 

“It’s Stiles,” Scott says, and Isaac can breathe again. “Ethan skipped fifth period. It’s probably nothing, but he’s giving us the heads up, just in case. We should get inside. If the alpha pack has something planned, I want to be ready.”

“Yeah,” Isaac answers faintly. He follows Scott up the walk and into the house, but his eyes race around the yard, alert for any sign that something might be off. 

Scott closes and locks the door behind them. “My mom’s working a double. She won’t be back until really late.”

“Good. That’s good.” Isaac doesn’t want Melissa to know about any of this. She already speaks softly around him, like he’s a wild animal that might spook at loud noises.

“Hey, are you okay? You’re shaking.” Scott wraps his arms around Isaac and pulls him against his chest. They’re both still damp, but somehow Scott radiates a comforting warmth. Isaac lets himself slump against Scott, even though he shouldn’t. He’s filthy, in fact he’s every kind of a mess, and Scott doesn’t deserve to have all this stain him. No matter how good—how safe and _right_ \--it feels to be near Scott, Isaac doesn’t deserve it.

He pulls away before he can lose his nerve. The look of confusion Scott gives him sends the nausea in his belly into overdrive. Isaac rushes upstairs to the bathroom and drops to his knees in front of the toilet just in time for another round of black sludge to force its way out of him.

Scott crouches behind him and reaches out a tentative hand to rest on Isaac’s shoulder. “What can I do to help?”

“I just want to get cleaned up. I still smell like…”

“Okay. I’ll get you some dry clothes.”

“Hey, Scott.” Scott stops and turns back. Isaac bites his lip. He can’t ask Scott to stay with him. It’s too pathetic. “Can I get another towel, too?”

Isaac turns the water on as hot as it will go; scalding showers are becoming a regular thing for him. The tingle of healing is familiar when he steps into the burning spray. He watches the water stream over the bruises on his hips Aiden left when he fucked Isaac this morning. They’ll take longer to heal, wounds from an alpha, but they’re already starting to turn green around the edges, and ugly.

Aiden’s voice whispers in his head, _Every time he looks at you, he’s going to be thinking about what you did. That’s all you are now: a liability. A broken thing._

Isaac grabs a washcloth and scrubs angrily at his skin, determined to erase the scent of what happened, even if he can’t obliterate all the evidence.

 _That isn’t going to help_ , Ethan’s voice chimes in. _Do you think deleting those pictures from your phone got rid of them? Scott’s helping you now, but that’s because he doesn’t know what you_ really _are._

“Shut up.” Isaac wraps his arms tight over his chest, but even under the scalding water, he can’t get warm.

_You belong to us. You submitted to us. No one else wants you. No one else can give you what you need._

“Shut up!” Isaac tries to breathe, but can’t get enough air. A bone-wrenching cough sends black fluid splattering the floor of the shower. The next cough brings up more, burning on its way up. The coughs stop his breath and wrack his body until he’s on his knees, water pounding against him as he struggles for air.

“Isaac? Isaac!”

The water disappears, to be replaced by a pair of warm arms tugging him out of the shower, across the damp tile floor, and into a sitting position.

“Isaac? Talk to me. Please.” Scott. That’s Scott behind him, propping him up, pushing wet hair out of his eyes and holding onto his shaking hands. 

“Cold,” Isaac chatters.

“Okay, hang on.” Scott starts to get up, but Isaac isn’t letting go. He won’t be left with _them_ again. Instead, he wraps Scott’s arms around his waist and holds them there. 

Scott allows it, even though he’s strong, even though he could throw Isaac off, or pin him down and do whatever he wanted. Scott just stays where Isaac puts him, heedless of the water that must be soaking through the dry pajama pants he just changed into.

Isaac slumps back against Scott’s bare chest, drinking in the heat that radiates from his skin like the warm glow of a small sun.

“Okay?” Scott folds his legs up to bracket Isaac, barricading out the rest of the world. It feels safe. “Is there anything I can do?”

Isaac squeezes his eyes closed. He should say no. Just this is helping. But Isaac can still feel the frantic, howling need beneath his skin, the one that keeps trying to pour out of his body, the one hijacking his mind. The twins have their claws in him deep, and as long as they do, he won’t be safe.

“Can you… bite me?”

Scott freezes. “Bite you?”

“Just on the back of the neck.” Isaac drops his head forward.

“Uh.”

“You don’t have to,” Isaac says quickly. He shouldn’t ask for something Scott doesn’t want. “I just thought—“

“No, of course.” Scott nuzzles in close, and breathes, taking in Isaac’s scent. Isaac can feel the vibrations of Scott’s heart pounding where his chest is pressed to Isaac’s back. Then Scott’s voice is just barely a breath against Isaac’s skin. “Of course. Just—with teeth?”

“Yes.” Isaac runs his tongue over his own teeth, feels his fangs sharpen, and feels his cock swell in response. “Or not, if you don’t want.”

“Are you sure you want me to—“

“Yes.” Isaac tightens his grip on Scott’s hands. “You can smell fear. Am I afraid?”

“Not afraid, no,” Scott says slowly. 

Isaac scents the air: water, a trace of bleach, Scott’s warm skin, and Isaac’s arousal, a humid smell of need pouring off him in waves. “Scent doesn’t lie.” He bows his head to expose the long line of his spine. “I’m sure.”

A moment stretches between them, in which Isaac listens intently to Scott’s heart, pounding hard and getting faster. At last, Scott whispers, “Okay.” One hand darts up to bury itself in Isaac’s hair, then Scott dives in to sink his teeth into the back of Isaac’s neck. 

The connection burns Isaac like an electric shock. The sound ripped from his throat is more than half pleasure; the rest is some combination of surprise and desperation, because he didn’t realize how much he had needed this from Scott. His blood pounds through his veins, drowning out conscious thought. He digs his fingers into Scott’s thighs trying, impossibly, to pull him closer. His cock is painfully hard, throbbing in time with his pulse. When he pushes back into Scott’s grasp, he can feel that Scott is hard, too; the thick line of him is pressed to Isaac’s back with only a thin layer of wet cotton as a barrier.

“Please,” Isaac moans. It’s not enough, not nearly. He arches into Scott’s grip, willing him to understand.

Scott surges forward, tumbling them onto the floor. He swings a leg over Isaac’s hip and resets his teeth against Isaac’s skin. The pressure of the bite—not drawing blood, just holding on—sends a shudder of pleasure through Isaac. He would do this every day, if Scott wanted to. He wouldn’t care who saw; let anyone who wants send out pictures, or post a video of Scott staking his claim. That thought sends a strangled sob choking out of him. 

Scott immediately lets up the pressure, but Isaac reaches back to tangle a hand in Scott’s hair and keep him close. “Yes. Scott, please.”

Scott grunts and pushes against him. Isaac squirms back in response, cursing the wet tile as he slides. Scott gasps against the back of his neck, breath warm on the bruised skin. “Tell me what you want.”

“Touch me. Please, touch me.”

Scott slides his fingers down Isaac’s flank, but waits for Isaac to take his hand and show him exactly what he wants. Their hands twine together in slow, firm strokes while Scott rocks against Isaac. It hadn’t felt like this at all when the twins had touched him. This is different-- _Scott_ is different. The painful need that’s been sizzling under Isaac’s skin morphs into frantic heat wherever Scott touches him. 

“Pants,” Isaac complains. “I want to feel your skin.”

Scott pauses long enough to shove his pajama bottoms down, so that when he pulls Isaac against him again, Isaac can feel the glorious firm heat of Scott’s length against his skin. Being this close, he can smell Scott all around him. It doesn’t clash, doesn’t make him sick the way the twins’ scent on his skin did. Scott’s scent, his sweat, the soap Isaac used, and the remnants of the lake water come together like they’re meant to be, and someone should really bottle that smell, because Isaac wants to drown in it. He wouldn’t drown, though; Scott would come in after him.

Scott tucks his chin over Isaac’s shoulder and watches as he strokes him. “Is this how you like it? Tell me what feels good.”

“This, anything, you, this,” Isaac babbles as Scott’s hand tightens around him. “I’m close—I’m so…”

“Tell me what you need.”

“Your teeth. Please. Bite me again. Scott!”

Scott clamps his teeth onto the top of Isaac’s spine. Heat floods his body. Isaac bucks up into Scott’s grip, and a howl rips out of his throat. Scott convulses around him; his teeth sharpen, break skin. Isaac’s howl turns into a scream as his climax pulls him over the edge, humming through his bloodstream like a downed power line and leaving him gasping. Scott thrusts up against him and goes still, spilling warm and damp against Isaac’s skin.

The two stay tangled together, slumped on the wet tile floor, panting. Isaac’s mind has gone completely blank, his attention reduced to just an awareness of where Scott’s body touches his: his arm over Isaac’s hip, his forehead pressed into Isaac’s hair, his cock going soft against Isaac’s back.

When Scott starts to pull away, Isaac rumbles out a warning growl. 

“Okay,” Scott laughs, and settles back against Isaac. He runs his tongue across the teeth marks on Isaac’s neck, and Isaac flinches. “Sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to—“

“Don’t be sorry.” Isaac summons enough energy to roll over, so he can see Scott’s face. “That was exactly what I needed.” 

“Anything. Anything you need.” Scott leans his forehead against Isaac’s. “You’ve gotta know that.”

“I do know.” Isaac presses his lips against Scott’s. Scott opens his mouth and lets Isaac in, lets him lead, and chases him for a second after Isaac pulls away. “And I know this doesn’t fix everything, not by a long shot. But can you…” Isaac pushes Scott onto his back so he can collapse against his shoulder. “Can we just stay here for now?”

Scott brings an arm up to settle around Isaac’s waist. “As long as you want.”


End file.
